Page 1 of What A Croc
Chapter One
Robert
Flipping through the days-old mail–yeah, I sometimes forgot to get it out of the box–my heart skipped a beat when I saw the fancy embossed return address. Stopping in the driveway I shared with my son and his mate, I ripped the envelope open so fast my shaking fingers nearly couldn’t pull the cashier’s check out and I almost dropped the lightweight paper.
Staring down at the check with many, many zeroes, I let out a little whoop, throwing my arm up and fist bumping the air. I was fairly skipping the rest of the way down the drive to where it ended. Veering to the right was my small cabin and to the left was a brand new, two-story house that belonged to Wyatt and hisfamily.
“Ding dong, the witch is gone,” I sang merrily under my breath, “the witch is gone, the witch is gone.”
“Morning, Robert.”
The low rumble of a greeting from my son-in-law, Sheriff Grayson Beckett–Becks to his friends–called to me from where he was casually leaning against the railing of his front porch. Glancing to my left at the large, imposing wolf shifter, drinking his steaming cup of coffee nonchalantly, I skidded to a stop.
Grinning broadly, I waved the check in his direction. “I got my settlement check from Jane.”
Becks chuckled into his coffee mug. “So, a good morning for sure.”
“Couldn’t be any better!” I didn’t try to hold in my enthusiasm. My ex-wife had tried to contest every single thing in our divorce proceedings. She’d held out sending my divorce settlement until, by law, she couldn’t hold out any longer or face being held in contempt. Still, she had insisted on mailing a cashier’s check instead of just transferring the funds into my bank account.
My marriage to my alpha, Jane, had been long, and while I wouldn’t describe it as unhappy…oh, who the hell was I kidding? It had been a miserable existence, and some days I couldn’t believe I had wasted my youth on the cold, uncaring woman I had ever thought was a good match for me. Granted, there had been wealthy parents on both sides involved, a certain unspoken way of things. We’d been a pleasant match in the beginning. And for many years–too many–I had told myself that even though Jane and I weren’t a love match, and–despite my hopes in the beginning–had never grown into one, I was happy enough.
I had been naïve back then, willing to let our wealthy parents push us on each other. Jane had been lovely, if somewhat reserved, and my parents had convinced me we were a good match. Both our families made their money from real estate, each owning several luxury high rise apartment buildings on the upper east side in New York city. With our marriage, the holdings had doubled, then grown exponentially over the years.
If my marriage had turned out to be less than the ideal life I had imagined in the first bloom of youth, I just told myself that we were happy enough. Even if there had been many, many things over the years I had not agreed with my mate about. Even when she became a cold, distant stranger who I barely recognized.
It wasn’t until our son, Wyatt, had given birth to our granddaughter, Julianna, that I realized just how unhappy I had become. I wanted to get to know my son and be a part of his life, something that I had been denied most of his life. And I wanted to be involved in my granddaughter’s life, something Jane had no interest in.
It had taken Wyatt moving across the country, quitting his teaching position at Harvard,buying a daycare, andgiving birth without us there or even telling us for a few days after the fact, to really open my eyes to my life. For me to realize that Jane was never going to change. Finally, last July, I had had enough of her bullying, and one too many snide comments about Julianna–one thing I would not tolerate. I had walked out, and driven from New York city to Sweet Alps, California.
I don’t know who had been more shocked by my actions, me or Wyatt, when I showed up at Little Cubs Daycare, packed bags in tow. Thankfully, my son hadn’t turned me away, as I feared he might have the entire long drive there. Instead, he welcomed me with open arms, and we’d had some deep, heartfelt conversations since. Both of us agreed we couldn’t do anything to change the past, but we were willing to move forward. Getting to know Wyatt as an adult proved interesting, and I was pleased to discover that I enjoyed my son’s company and was excessively proud of the man he had become.
It was a little stranger getting used to the fact that his mate and I were almost the same age. I had barely been twenty-three when Wyatt was born, practically a baby myself, and had recently marked my forty-ninth birthday. Becks was approaching fifty-three, despite having the body of someone half his age.
My hand instinctively rested against my soft belly, a little envious of the ridiculous eight-pack I knew Becks had hidden beneath his tan uniform shirt. Ah well, even whenI was Wyatt’s age, I had never had impressive muscles. I was an omega through and through, with the shorter, slender physique and soft muscle tone.
“What’s all the excitement?” Wyatt asked, sliding under Beck’s arm. He had his mother’s giraffe shifter build, tall and slender. Thankfully, he hadn’t gotten her personality.
Julianna reached for Becks, who put his mug down on the railing and took his daughter into his arms, snuggling her dark curls while she babbled happily, as only a one-and-a-half-year-old can.
“Jane finally paid up,” Becks snickered, bouncing the baby while reaching to pick up his abandoned mug.
Wyatt grinned. “That’s great, Pops.”
Pops. I wasn’t exactly sure when Wyatt had started calling me that. Sometime last summer, but it still made me feel warm inside when he said it. Prior to my move, he had always addressed me formally as father. Jane had insisted we hire nannies after his birth, and they had instructed him on how to address us. When I tried to interject, preferring he call me daddy or papa, Jane had informed me that we would be referred to as mother and father and nothing else.
Julianna had even started calling me her own version of the word, which usually came out as Hops, and it never failed to make me smile. I loved being her Hops and secretly hoped she never stopped calling me that.
“Does this mean you’re going to quit working for me?” Wyatt questioned, “Now that you have a nice settlement and can be a man of leisure.”
“Pfft,” I scoffed, tucking the check into my wallet to deposit this afternoon at the bank. “You know I love working at Little Cubs. Besides, I’ve spent enough years being relatively useless. I like being needed.”
I absolutely adored all the kids at the daycare, but I really loved working with the smaller children. They were so curious, their minds just little sponges wanting to learn all the things. Plus, working at the daycare Wyatt owned allowed me to spend more time with Wyatt and Julianna. My granddaughter was absolutely the apple of my eye and one of my most favorite little people.
“Glad to hear it,” Wyatt told me warmly, “we’d hate to lose you. And I’m glad Mother finally stopped being such a bi–”
Becks cleared his throat loudly, tilting his head towards Julianna, and Wyatt amended his words, “Such a witch.”
“Much better,” Becks grinned, planting a soft kiss on Wyatt’s lips, and I looked away. Longing filled me, making me wish for things I couldn’t have. Don’t get me wrong, I was over the moon that my son had found a mate as wonderful as Becks, one who loved him the way he deserved to be loved. But I would be lying if I said every time I caught sight of their mate marks that I wasn’t a tad envious.
